


Keepsakes Eternal

by eyeus



Series: In The Land of Midgard [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Avengers (2012), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:18:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeus/pseuds/eyeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What need have I for this plaything,” Loki murmurs, nuzzling into Thor’s neck, “when I have the real thing right <i>here</i>?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keepsakes Eternal

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a standalone, or as being loosely set in the **_[Where Shadows Lie](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1172184/chapters/2387400)_** ‘verse. Inspired by the Thor bear from Build-A-Bear, seen **[here](http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y283/slamduncan21/stuff%20to%20ul%20to%20sites/thorbear.jpg)**.

~

Loki steps onto the roof of the recently reclaimed Avengers tower, exhausted.

He’s just returned from a mission to rid Midgard of its last plague victims, and is torn between wanting sleep, a shower, or Thor, when, _damn him_ , Thor appears, taking the decision from his hands. Waving this _thing_ in his face and nudging it into his arms, instead of greeting Loki with his customary embrace.

“A bear, you say?” Loki echoes, when they have returned to their room. He arches a brow and holds the stuffed animal Thor has given him at arms length. Inspects its cream-colored curls and beaded black eyes. “With your likeness?” 

It is a poor likeness, he thinks; the bear hardly captures the sun-spun gold of Thor’s hair. The electric-blue of his eyes, a shock of lightning in a storm.

“Yes,” Thor says, eager. “Its armor and accessories are amazingly accurate as well!” He turns the bear in Loki’s hands to show him its shiny red cloak and fabric outfit, patterned after Thor’s own Asgardian armor. Touches the bear’s simplified puff of a hammer to Loki’s nose. “See? It even has its own Mjölnir!”

“What need have I for this plaything,” Loki murmurs, stepping into Thor’s space and nuzzling into his neck, “when I have the real thing right _here_?”

“Ah—” says Thor, between sweet, light presses of lips to Loki’s hair, “the wonder of it is—when the merchant asked me to insert a fabric heart into the bear, I thought to place something else inside it as well.”

“Oh?” asks Loki. He draws back from the warm space beneath Thor’s neck, intrigued, both by the reappearance of a toy shop in the ruins of their world, and Thor’s enthusiasm. “What was it?”

Thor shifts in place, his cheeks flushing the red of Midgard’s ripest cherries. “A lock of my hair.” He loops his arms around Loki’s waist and knocks their foreheads together. “So that every time you leave on a mission for SHIELD, you may stop stealing my hair.”

“I do not _steal_ your hair,” Loki says crossly, but he swallows, guilty, at the memory of all the locks of Thor’s hair he has clipped away for safekeeping. 

It’s a habit he’s had since they were young: a lock of hair for each year. Recently, though, Loki clips a lock of Thor’s hair before either of them leaves for a mission, to make up for the short years spent in misunderstanding, after Thor’s fall from Asgard. And one day, when they have grown old—if they are allowed the luxury of growing old together—Loki will have a whole collection of _Thor_ for his very own.

He loved Thor when they were children, when his brother’s hair was the soft down of cornsilk; he will love Thor when silver streaks his temples, a symbol of his golden years.

“There is no crime in it,” Thor chuckles, his arms around Loki’s waist squeezing encouragingly. “I ask only that you take this bear in my stead. That you may think of me when you are away. In _addition_ to my hair,” he adds hastily, when Loki gives him the look that says he will continue his collection, regardless. 

“What of yourself?” Loki asks drily. “Shall I commission a bear with my likeness to be made, that you would stop pilfering my scarves?” He glances at the drawer in which Thor has tidily hidden his own trophies, a cache of stolen scarves, each before Loki leaves for a mission. “I seem to have misplaced the gold one with green print recently,” says Loki, pointed.

Thor’s flush darkens into a ruddy, wine-dark hue. “I never—I did not mean to—” he tries, before Loki leans in, shushing him with a kiss. 

“There is no need for explanation this _instant_.” He tastes the powdered sugar of Midgardian confectionary, as he touches his lips to Thor’s. “I have returned now; show me how dearly you have missed me. Show me,” Loki murmurs, enticing, into Thor’s ear, “through each press of your lips to mine, each taste of me you would take with eyes and breath and tongue, every _inch_ of your affections. And I will leave you no room to doubt _mine_.” He sinks into Thor’s arms, deep. Tilts his hip into Thor’s, suggestive.

“Yes,” Thor breathes. “ _Yes_.” He cups his hands under Loki’s rear and hoists him into the bed; presses him deep into the sheets as he takes Loki’s mouth, urgent, demanding, _insatiable_.


End file.
